Haragon's Aftermath
by M0ckingbird
Summary: "I remember you celebrating the battle of Haragon so much that you nearly started a second." This is the story of what happened that night. Rated T for safety.


_Author's note._

 _Rating is just to be safe, due to sexual references, although there are no actual lemons. This entire short story was written on a whim, based entirely on this scene in Thor: The Dark World:_

 ** _Thor:_** _I remember you celebrated the battle of Haragon so much that you nearly started a second._  
 ** _Sif:_** _Well, the first was so much fun._

A victorious post-battle ceremony was always customary for the armies of Asgard. These were times to let go of any worries; a time for hedonism and recklessness. The room was filled with people who had been warriors a few hours ago, and who were now just people who wanted to find an escape from the world.

Chief among the inebriated, dancing deities was the Lady of War, surrounded by the Warriors Three, currently engaged in a boat race with the God of Thunder. He was winning, but only by the smallest of margins. She was one of the few of her race who would even consider taking up such a challenge, and she provided her companion with decidedly tough competition, though nine times out of ten, she lost. That was the case tonight, because the blonde's tankard hit the table just milliseconds before hers did. She was a sore loser, and he was a worse victor. Bright blue eyes shone mischievously, his lips quirking into that devilish smirk of his; the one which could bring any woman to her knees if he wished it. Sif was no exception to that rule, though she'd told nobody about that particular occasion.

"I see you are still as slow as always, Lady Sif." That comment was accompanied by the God's drinking vessel being elevated above his head like a trophy, just for the sake of rubbing it in. Asgard's Leading Lady was having none of it.

"Last time I was anything other than slow, you screamed."

At least, that was what they thought they were saying. In truth, it was merely a series of drunken slurs, but everybody else in the room had reached an equal state of inebriation, and therefore understood the language of alcohol. From behind her, Hogun made a sound not dissimilar from a wolf-whistle, while the other two took it upon themselves to act out vulgar gestures, for which they were rewarded by projectile tankards launched from the other two's hands.

"Another challenge, then. Fight me."

Sif was one of those people who, under the influence of alcohol, believed herself to be invincible. Even sober, she wasn't all that far from doing so, which made the situation even worse. She staggered to her feet, sword drawn and hand on hip. Hogun had a little more sense, advising that perhaps it wasn't the best idea, but she waved him off with a shrug and a smile. She was surprisingly chipper for one who was usually so serious, and for someone who was attempting to pick a fight.

"What about those people from earlier? They seemed pretty eager to fight."

Again, that wasn't exactly what came out of her mouth. In reality, it sounded more like a cross between a beached seal and a teenager in the morning.

"Sif..."

Even Volstagg, who was having to cling to a table for balance, knew better. He attempted to reach a hand out to stop her, but in doing so released his grip on the table and fell flat on his face.

"Today was so much fun. We should do it again!"

Quite contrary to her character, her voice was almost chirpy. Sif had three stages of drunkenness. The first was cocky, which was hard to spot since she was arrogant enough as it was. The second was this, where life was a game and everything deserved a laugh. The last usually resulted in her waking the next morning to find company, but she wasn't going to reach that stage tonight.

"Sif. Today was a /battle/."

Volstagg pointed out, mid-cuddle with his new friend, the floor. Even the Goddess' affected mind knew that was funny, so she snorted unceremoniously- which then sent everyone into hysterics, because snorting was /hilarious/. Well, almost all of them. Fandral, it seemed, had disappeared on an escapade to find flying green pigs, and was currently hurdling tables in persuit of the tavern owner's escaped parrot.

"I know! Wasn't it fun? Let's do it again."

With that, she took off at a sprint towards the door. The remaining two- since Volstagg's attempts to get to his feet were futile, and Fandral had tripped over a chair and fallen headlong into a pretty girl- gave chase, though neither were as fast as she was. She allowed a glance over her shoulder for the purpose of tainting her pursuers, only to see them peel off in opposite directions down smaller streets. All three were completely and utterly, undeniably and irredeemably plastered, but their instincts were so strong that they were still effective. She didn't think much of it, for now, because set in her sights was the leader of the opposition, who, as the losing party, was required to sign several treaties, and as such had no choice but to pay a visit to the city. He must have heard her footsteps, because he turned to his left, only to set wide eyes upon the charging goddess, right hand fumbling for his weapon, even as he backed away. She must have gotten within a five-metre radius before a blonde figure tackled her to the ground and held her there.

"We are truly sorry about this. She meant nothing by it."

Hogun was the one tasked with speaking. He was, after all, the least inebriated of the group.

"How could she have meant nothing? She was heading straight for me with a drawn sword! I could have-"

Sif didn't get to hear the end of the man's panic-stricken speech, because Thor had lifted her off the ground, bridal style, and was carrying her away. She later discovered that the warrior from Vanaheim had managed to diffuse the situation, luckily for her, but for now the only thing she knew was that she ought to be fighting to break free, but there was something about being this close to the Prince that stopped her from wanting to. She must have blacked out at that point, because the next thing she knew was the sunlight peeking through the gap between the curtains in her own chambers. Any attempts to remember the night before drew a blank, which was never a good thing. Her attention was drawn back to the present when she realised that someone had changed the clothes she'd been wearing into something more suitable for bed. She didn't have to look in a mirror to know that there was an obvious red tinge to her cheeks.


End file.
